


Other Nights

by touch



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Gentle Sex, M/M, Please be gentle, i needed more soft prokopinsky, so i wrote it myself, this is my first fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 08:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11204460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touch/pseuds/touch
Summary: Some nights, Joseph Kavinsky felt torn apart in all the wrong ways. Some nights, the weight of everything bad in the world decided to take home in his chest and leave him ragged, violent, snarling.Some nights, Joseph Kavinsky felt like fire in all the wrong ways.Other nights, though, Joseph Kavinsky felt torn apart and burning in a way a God would.This was one of those nights.





	Other Nights

**Author's Note:**

> okay y'all this is my first fic like. ever. and my first time writing real smut and not just vague suggestions to it. but there's a serious lack of almost everything i love in this fandom so i decided it was time to put my big boy pants on and write what i need myself. i hope it's not too bad and that you like it!

Some nights, Joseph Kavinsky felt torn apart in all the wrong ways. Some nights, the weight of everything bad in the world decided to take home in his chest and leave him ragged, violent, snarling. Those were the nights he chugged whatever toxic alcohol he could find and took any pills that showed up and snorted as many lines of coke as his body could stand. Those were the nights he found himself on the streets, finding solace in the way the engine rumbled and shook his bones. Those were the nights he texted Lynch, challenging him, spewing profanities and hoping Lynch was in the mood to take the bait, which he usually was. 

Some nights, Joseph Kavinsky felt like fire in all the wrong ways.

Other nights, though, Joseph Kavinsky felt torn apart and burning in a way a God would. Other nights, he settled himself down on the floor of his basement with the others and let himself loosen with the heavy feel of smoke in his lungs. Those were the nights he only drank because alcohol was just there and only took pills because he wanted to feel good and didn’t really feel like touching cocaine. Those were the nights he dragged his fingers over Prokopenko’s stomach as it swelled and deflated with the movements of his breaths. Those were the nights he didn’t even think about his phone or Lynch or racing.

This was one of those nights. 

The pattern to nights like this weren’t totally concrete because Kavinsky wasn’t often like this. Usually, his highs came with his mind’s ugly fury, not softness and lazy breathing. Most nights like this, Kavinsky fell asleep on the floor of the basement while Skov and Swan touched each other slowly, enjoying each other the way they liked, and Jiang and Prokopenko tossed mindless conversation back and forth. 

Tonight, though. Tonight, Kavinsky felt slow and lazy and soft, but also like he was removed from his skin, exposed and hungry. His fingers were playing at the little sliver of skin between Prokopenko’s shirt and his jeans. Prokopenko’s skin was so soft and so alluring. Nights like tonight, Kavinsky didn’t want the other boys to see him like this, naked in more than the bodily sense. Prokopenko was the only one who got to see him like this, because this was how Prokopenko was a lot of the time when he wasn’t too high. 

So Kavinsky was lying next to Prokopenko on his bed, their only touches being Kavinsky’s hands on Prokopenko’s stomach. Prokopenko looked like he could stay there forever just like this, but Kavinsky could see the calm excitement humming through Prokopenko and knew that they both were aware of what them being alone meant. 

Prokopenko raised his hand and cracked his eyes open, brushing his soft fingertips against the skin of Kavinsky’s cheek. Kavinsky had his free arm propped up beneath himself at the elbow and looked down at Prokopenko and he could _feel_ the affection in his own gaze. It matched the eyes staring up at him. 

“Baby,” Kavinsky whispered. It was a promise, a declaration that tonight would be gentle and as close to love as he could get. 

With a love-drunk smile, Prokopenko whispered back, “Joey.” It was an acceptance, a plea, a cry for contact. 

With that, Kavinsky leaned down to press their lips together. He’d never said it, but Kavinsky’s heart always picked up and his stomach always swooped when Prokopenko called him _Joey_. It was something Prokopenko saved only for nights like this, when Kavinsky was pliant enough to accept it properly. 

Prokopenko opened his mouth in a sigh and Kavinsky slipped his tongue in, prodding gently at Prokopenko’s teeth and tongue and the roof of his mouth. They kissed like that for a while, gasping mouths moving into each other before closing with a wet sound. Prokopenko brought his hand from Kavinsky’s cheek to dig into his hair while the other coaxed Kavinsky to lie between his legs. Then, their hips moved with their mouths and their bodies got closer until every bit of them pressed together. 

Kavinsky broke the kiss to pull at Prokopenko’s clothes. It was a request, a plea, not a demand. Prokopenko complied, lifting his torso and hips to accommodate Kavinsky’s movements. Then, Prokopenko did the same, lifting Kavinsky’s shirt and pushing his pants away from his body. 

There was so much skin, all touching and warm and exposed. Prokopenko moaned quietly when their bodies pressed back the way they were before, _every_ part of them touching. Kavinsky mouthed at Prokopenko’s neck, sending a sigh into the air as Prokopenko tilted his head back for more attention. He whispered out small praises as Kavinsky dragged his hands down Prokopenko’s torso and his thighs, shivering every time Kavinsky paid special attention to his nipples. 

Kavinsky kissed his way down Prokopenko’s chest and stopped where Prokopenko’s pubic hair began under his bellybutton. He pressed open mouthed kisses to the crease of Prokopenko’s thighs and hips, letting every gasp and whimper and plea soak into his bones. He felt like he was on fire, he felt torn apart, he felt like a _god_. 

Pressing a ghost of a kiss to Prokopenko’s erection, Kavinsky leaned toward his bedside table to retrieve their nearly empty bottle of lube. He slicked his fingers and probed at Prokopenko’s entrance for a moment, teasing and enjoying Prokopenko’s noises that verged on begging. Kavinsky shushed him and pressed his first finger in, closing his eyes at the sheer relief in Prokopenko’s sigh. 

Kavinsky fingered Prokopenko slowly, working him until he was whining and begging in a way that on any other night would have earned him sneers and mocking comments. Tonight, it only served to make Kavinsky ache and want and suck little hickeys into the skin of Prokopenko’s thighs. Tomorrow, when he was violently high and uselessly destructive, he’d make different bruises in Prokopenko’s skin with the force of his fingertips. For now, though, he kissed the shaking limbs and removed his fingers to slick his cock and stare at Prokopenko’s wrecked expression.

When Kavinsky slid home, slowly, carefully, Prokopenko fell apart. Prokopenko was so hot and tight and inviting. Sometimes, this was the only place he ever wanted to be, inside of Prokopenko, making him release all kinds of pleasant sounds and his entire twitching around Kavinsky. The press of Kavinsky’s cock pulled a moan from Prokopenko’s chest and he threw his head back, digging his short nails into Kavinsky’s neck as he pulled him closer. 

“Please, Joey,” Prokopenko begged. “Please.”

Another night, Kavinsky would have waited and asked tauntingly, _‘Please’ what, Proko?_ But tonight, he just nodded against Prokopenko’s collarbone and began to thrust slowly, setting a pace that was agonizing and oh so good. Tonight, his body had the patience for this. In fact, everything inside of Kavinsky screamed at him to go slow and study Prokopenko’s reactions and memorize them.

Each movement earned a small gasp or moan that sank into Kavinsky’s stomach and settled into his cock. This was not going to last very long. 

Kavinsky gasped, “Baby,” against Prokopenko’s collarbone and wrapped his arms around Prokopenko’s back and hips. His pace was just as slow, only now he pressed harder, searching. If he didn’t find what he was looking for quickly, he’d come on his own and leave Prokopenko unsatisfied. Normally this wouldn’t have bothered Kavinsky. Prokopenko would make do with Kavinsky’s hand or mouth afterwords. And if he didn’t like it, Prokopenko had his own two hands, didn’t he? Tonight, though, he wanted to reduce Prokopenko to gasps and trembles and grappling fingers. 

And just like that, the head of his cock hit Prokopenko’s prostate and Prokopenko yelped, “There! God, Joey, _right_ there!” 

Kavinsky kept angling for that spot and Prokopenko heaved in breath, fingers no doubt leaving bruises and scratches on Kavinsky’s back as he arched and moaned our praises. He was at the very edge, Kavinsky could feel it, he just needed an extra nudge. So Kavinsky gave him a shove, pulling one hand to rub at the shaft of Prokopenko’s neglected erection and breathing into his ear, “Come on, baby boy.”

Just like that, Prokopenko cried out, high and long, bending his back upward and snapping his head into the pillow beneath him as he came all over his chest. Kavinsky lasted all of three seconds before he hissed into Prokopenko’s ear and spilled himself inside of Prokopenko. He rode out their orgasms with gentle rocks of his hips before stopping, feeling his pulse in every inch of his body and Prokopenko’s.

When he moved to pull out, Prokopenko pressed his heels into the small of Kavinsky’s back. He shamelessly cupped Kavinsky’s face in his hands and whispered against his lips, “Stay for a little bit.”

Kavinsky almost said _gross_ , but instead he simply nodded, sinking into Prokopenko’s mouth and the feel of their skin. 

Tomorrow, Kavinsky knew he’d be different no matter how much he wished he could remain this calm. Tomorrow, he’d be cruel and cutting and antagonizing to anyone he encountered. Tomorrow, he’d be rough and callous and Prokopenko would take it like the good boy he was. Tonight, though, he let himself feel the calm in his blood and let Prokopenko handle him with soft, knowing touches. 

Tonight, he wouldn’t think about tomorrow.


End file.
